The difference between jealousy and envy
by El loopy
Summary: While Sherlock has his relationship conversation with Fiona, Joan is in the cafe down the road doing some soul searching of her own. Set post 4x18 'Ready or not'. Oneshot. One-sided Joan x Sherlock.


The difference between jealousy and envy

Joan sat in the café down the road from the Brownstone. Her hands clasped the cup of tea loosely, letting her skin barely brush the smooth exterior, absorbing the welcome heat without burning. She didn't have her phone out. It sat in her pocket, weighing down her jacket, the weight almost heavier from the list of cases she should be working through. She thought about removing it and flicking through what she should be doing; a whole block of time stretched out in front of her that she could be making productive use of. She frowned at the café wall and lifted the mug to her lips. She couldn't make herself do it. Her physical body was here but her mind was sat in the Brownstone with Fiona and Sherlock. She wanted them to work out. Sherlock deserved for it to work out. He had put so much into this relationship already it would be a pity for it to fail; Fiona was worth it after all. Her chest tightened unpleasantly and she felt a rare stab of bitterness. She placed her head in a hand, elbow resting on the table. It was an odd sensation and continued to surprise her, unsure of where it had come from. She was a detective. She could think through this rationally. Was it Fiona? No. Fiona was lovely. Joan really liked Fiona. She believed her to be solid and reliable ( _not_ a secret criminal mastermind). So this feeling wasn't hate and it wasn't suspicion of foul intentions. Did she _want_ them to break up? No. Absolutely not. The thought upset her. She wanted them to be happy...Sherlock in particular. She was glad he'd found someone who had overthrown his pig headed obstinacy, casual attitude to sex and cynicism concerning relationships. Someone who was worth it.

 **Someone not you** _._ Her mind whispered.

 _Ah, is that the problem? You are jealous. You wanted to keep Sherlock for yourself. You are worried about this interloper who has stolen his attentions. You wish that you had been the one to be special enough to tempt him into exclusivity._

 **No!**

 _No?_

 **No!**

Why did the second voice sound like Andrew? She imagined him sat opposite her, imminently sensible and rational.

 **It just seems hypocritical of him to shun relationships, berate me for trying to have them, telling me that there is no one I can settle down with and then proceeds to do so himself.**

 _So you are not jealous of them, you are envious? You want what they have._

She stared into the cup before taking the final mouthful.

 **Maybe.**

She now allowed her hand to wander to her pocket and check the time on her phone. No messages from Sherlock. That either meant it had gone badly and he was taking out his frustrations on something in the Brownstone, or it had gone well and her partner was breaking his forty-nine day fast in such a way as would probably bring Trent hammering on their door. She was inclined to believe the latter. It made her insides tighten and wrench in a way that none of Sherlock's other liaisons had.

 _That's because this one is serious. This one_ means _something._

Andrew's phantom was sat across from her now. She could just about remember what he looked like, although some of the features were blurry.

 **There is no reason to start looking for a new place just yet but it is something I do need to start considering.**

Her expression remained stoic but her insides felt that strange shredding sensation. She had lived alone before; she could do it again.

 _You don't want to though._

 **No.**

 _You have some time now. You could go out; see if you meet anyone you like._

She shook her head.

 **The last two relationships I had both men ended up dying; one literally and one figuratively. I don't think a relationship is a good idea right now.**

 _Are you sure?_

Joan scrutinised the self-projected phantom of her ex-boyfriend, feeling the sharp edges of grief and guilt once more before dissipating them.

"Enough," she whispered and let the fragments of memory fade into wisps. Determinedly she got to her feet. She was going to the station. She would get some work done there. Self-pity wasn't going to get her anywhere.

Joan walked out of the coffee shop, her head held high. Keeping her mind deliberately blank she made sure she didn't glance towards the Brownstone as she left.


End file.
